


Backstreet Serenade

by KitsuneKate



Series: Living Under a Paper Moon [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Girl!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Protective!Derek, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, and by slow I mean EXTREMELY slow, and she loves it, he gets better though, jackson & scott are old childhood friends, scott needs to stop being stupid, stiles is openly bisexual, werecoyote!sheriff stilinski, werecoyote!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneKate/pseuds/KitsuneKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We were careful. We were always careful. With the Hales buried and not a hunter in sight, we'd made a life for ourselves. But then the killings started, and before I knew it my best friend had been bitten, and by a wolf no less. My daily routine has gone from staying under the radar and praying to any powers that be for Lydia Freakin' Martin to notice me, to fighting for my life, and the lives of those I care for, all while trying to maintain a 4.0 GPA. And have I mentioned the werewolves? Because they just keep popping up all over the place. Like daisies. Furry, smelly, can't-stop-man-handling-me daisies. I really need to invest in an Easy Button.</p><p>Complete rewrite of season one. Mostly made up of canon divergence, but with the same relative outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Corpses and Furry Things

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'd like to make it clear that I fully support male!Stiles and all that he stands for. I'm simply writing this fic as a genderbent because there are so few in this fandom, especially for this ship, and the majority of them revolve around pregnancy. I pride myself in spicing things up a bit. 
> 
> This fic will be completely un-beta'd, but I will be reading and rereading each chapter before posting to ensure as few grammatical errors as possible. Feel free to point out any that I miss, I'd appreciate it. 
> 
> Lastly, the name of this fic is subject to change, mayhaps several times, as I'm still unsatisfied with it. Hopefully a proper one will come to me soon.
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> Carry On My Wayward Son - Kansas  
> Hunter - 30 Seconds to Mars  
> Holding Out for a Hero - Frou Frou

It was a cruel sort of torture. One I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. Not that I really had any. Harris didn’t count— he was like Satan, universally evil, feared by the masses, and all that jazz. I don’t think even _he_ could handle what I was about to go through. I knew it was coming. Could practically taste it on my tongue. I’d brought this upon myself, I knew, but for some reason I couldn’t find the strength to walk away. Did that make me a masochist? Yet another title to add to my kickass resume.

_‘Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done…’_

“Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam, Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeean!” I wailed, hands finding purchase in my nappy hair, tear brimmed eyes staring at my laptop screen like it had deeply offended me. And it had. One did not simply show the opening of yet another Supernatural finale in striking HD without wounding me on every level possible. It just wasn’t done. “Cassy baby!” I added with a whimper and a trembling in my lower lip. Oh the feels, the wonderfully agonizing feels… Masochist indeed.

The episode was just getting into Sam confronting Lillith when my father’s work phone gave a chirp downstairs. Dramatic pinnacle momentarily forgotten, I shifted my entire focus on the conversation being had. Three cheers for super senses. I recognized the voice on the other line as Deputy O’Shea. He was of a nice enough sort—lazy, portly, always hiding snacks somewhere on his person, but he’d shared enough curly fries with me for him to be considered a top grade citizen in my books. His grave tone was nearly identical to the one my father was infamous for, notifying him of a report sent in by a couple of runners; half a body in the woods, the other portion still missing.

A murder case. And the body was naked. Hot damn.

The call had ended and my dad’s light footsteps were making their way up the stairs before I could properly wipe the shit-eating grin off my face. I may have floundered a bit as he turned the doorknob. Only a little. Don’t you dare tell anyone. He looked in on me with a wary gaze, blue eyes piercing, as if they could see into my wretched little soul. And they probably could. Cops were intense like that, and my dad was at the top of their food chain in more ways than one. “I’m heading down to the station,” he announced as he leaned into my doorframe. “Something came up, so I probably won’t be home until early morning, if that.” He was leaving out specifics, I knew, but still telling me enough to keep his heartbeat from blipping. Clever old man. Too bad I’d been eavesdropping. Again. “And don’t even think of trying to stay home from school just because I’ll be sleeping like the dead when it’s time for you to leave.” Damn.

I tried my best to feign ignorance. “Hmm? Oh, alright. Don’t pick up any Carl’s Jr. for breakfast, or so help me it’ll be nothing but salads for dinner for a week.” The threatening banter about his diet was always a surefire way to keep him from delving too deep into my mannerisms. It was an ongoing battle we’d been waging for years—I fretted over his cholesterol levels like a good child should, despite his werecoyote genes keeping him in perfect health, and he went along with it, albeit kicking and screaming in a metaphorical sense. Just another way to make us seem like a normal human family. Which we weren’t.

An amused rumble filled the room as he regarded me in mock disdain. “I would never,” came his musing before we both exchanged farewells and ‘don’t die, ya old fart’s—okay, so that was only on my part—and then he was gone. I waited a few minutes just to be safe. Only when the engine of his cruiser was out of my hearing range did I slam my laptop shut, pulling on one of my oversized sweatshirts and my high tops, and slipped out my window with thoughtless ease. I was a woman on a mission, dammit, and therefore had no use of the front door. Besides, it made me feel like a bad ass. Sue me.

Betty The Faithful was waiting for me at the curb, right where I’d left her last. I could easily outrun a car on two legs or even four, but again, keeping up appearances, yada yada— and besides, my Jeep was a faithful ol’ lass. One who ate up all my spare cash on gas and repairs. But I digress. It’d make carting Scott along with me all the easier.  

*

Speaking of my best friend, he was none too happy to find me hanging upside down from his roof, his baseball bat wielded against me like a Keyblade against a Heartless. Psh, he wishes he were that cool. And maybe I did too. Shut up.

“Stiles, what the hell!?” Scott yelped as he stared up at me incredulously. I’d managed to wake him up if the disarray of his hair were anything to go by. There was even bit of dried saliva crusted at the corner of his mouth. Ew. Scott drool.

“Manners, Scotty, you’re in the presence of a _lady,_ ” I replied in a clipped tone before releasing the tension in my legs, body going into a free fall before landing on both feet. Flawless form, Stilinski. Simply flawless.

The giant puppy before me let out a chuff before muttering, “Lady my ass.” I may or may not have cuffed him upside the head for that. And if doing so required me to stand on my tip toes and even motion for him to bend down a bit, then so be it. Scott was just abnormally tall. I wasn’t short, dammit. Five-foot one is a perfectly normal height for a girl my age. It’s not like I hadn’t grown since seventh grade or anything. And so what if I couldn’t reach the top shelf at the grocery store? I’m not bitter.

“What are you even doing here?” Ah, he’d finally gotten around to asking. Why was I there again? Oh. Dead body. Naked, _female_ , dead body. Yes.

“Scotty m’boy, how would you like to take an all-expense paid trip into the reserve with yours truly?” I had a future in sales pitching, I just knew it. “This once in a lifetime package deal comes with a passenger’s side seat in the revered Stilinski Mobile, a moonlit walk through rugged terrain, and continuous witty commentary of the highest quality. Oh, and you might get to see a dead body. Ya know. The usual.”

Scott, bless his little puppy dog heart, had the look of a confused toddler on his face. And then the surprise appeared. Oh, there was the shock. And then that lopsided grin that signaled the success of my crafty linguistic skills appeared like the sun on the horizon. No words needed to be said as I waited for him to grab his shoes and jacket, as well as a pair of pants. We were both scrambling to get into my car faster than you could say ‘bisection’.

* 

I filled him in on the details as we drove. I’ll openly admit we were both more excited than what would be considered normal. Don’t get me wrong, the death of an innocent girl is nothing to smile over, but we were teens who had grown up on cheap horror flicks, and seeing a mutilated corpse in person would surely be the highlight of our mediocre lives. That and finally losing our virginities. The fact that we currently had a better chance of seeing a dead chick than popping out cherries was hilarious, it really was.

With the light from Scott’s phone, and my trusty nose that could put any bloodhound to shame—not that Scott-the-human knew that—we set off from my jeep and into the depths of Beacon Hills Preserve. I could tell Scott was growing warier the further we walked. Poor kid had his inhaler clutched to his chest like a lifeline, puffing on it every so often, brown eyes bugging out at the slightest of noises. It was times like this that I wished I could reassure my friend that we were fine, that I could easily sense any danger coming at us from a long ways off. Life wasn’t that easy though. It never was. And as far as Scott knew, I was nothing more than a quirky human who popped Adderall pills like they were candy and chased girls like they were cars. Maybe one day my dad would let me bring him in on our family secret. One day. But that day wasn’t today, or tonight, as the case were.

The baying of the K-9 Unit’s search dogs were like beacons piercing through the night, letting me know exactly where the search team was, and in doing so letting me avoid them like the plague. I wasn’t keen on the idea of my dad knowing I was out here. Werecoyotes had more ways than one to punish their children, ways that would make a mere grounding seem like child’s play. Running laps until you puke, anyone? No thanks, I’d pass.

Since the unit was coming from the north, I directed us south. No need to waste time searching the half of the forest they’d already combed through. And what do you know, it worked. The scent of old blood and the beginnings of decay filled my lungs like a sickly perfume. If that wasn’t the smell of a dead body, I didn’t want to know what was. A few more steps ahead, a wave of Scott’s cell, and the upper body of some poor girl was illuminated for all to see.

Scott’s gasp fell on deaf ears. I was far too busy giving those glazed over eyes a disbelieving look. I’d been so focused on sniffing out the scent of blood that I’d completely overlooked the other aroma the victim was practically saturated in. Werewolf. And not just any kind, either. No, she was a fucking alpha. Or was. But that didn’t matter.

I’d never seen a werewolf in the flesh before. There was once a whole family of them that lived on the preserve but my parents had told me to ‘leave them be’. Something about them all coming to an understanding over some territorial issue, granting a period of tolerance so long as rules were followed, blah blah blah. The majority of them had died in a fire, the survivors fleeing to who knows where, before I’d grown old enough to go see them for myself, threat of grounding be damned.  

“Stiles?”

So what was this wolf equivalent of a powerhouse doing in Beacon Hills? And what had been strong enough to not only kill her, but leave her in two halves? Had she been ripped in half, or had there been a weapon involved? Weapons meant hunters. Hunters meant death.

“Stiles!”

Death was no good. I didn’t want to die. Nope. I had a long life planned ahead of me. It would begin with my courting of a one Lydia Martin, queen of Beacon Hills High, long may she reign, and end with us receiving a whole hoard of grandchildren from our adopted kids, spending our glory years in some cozy cabin, content as could be. We would be the envy of all the other retirees, naturally, as Lydia was one smart cookie, and would no doubt beat out 401k plan into submission. Oh, the perks of loving an intelligent woman…

“STILES!”

I jumped at the sudden weight of Scott’s hand on my shoulder drawing me out of my musings. Naturally,  that’s also when I noticed the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. We were being watched. So much for my dad teaching me to ‘always remain alert’. Oops.

Scott’s hand tightened its grip, the scent of his fear flooding the air. “Stiles, there’s something in the bushes, and… and its eyes are _glowing_. _Red._ ” Had his voice just cracked? It had. But there would be no snide remarks made on the status of his journey through puberty, at least not this night. Maybe tomorrow, assuming we lived through this, of course. The odds didn’t seem in our favor.

Well fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. It was nice knowing you, Stilinski.

I didn’t even have enough time to turn around before a roar filled the air. One moment I’d been vertical, and the next I was horizontal, and not in the good way. There was nothing good in having a several hundred pound alpha werewolf glaring down at you under the light of the full moon. How many of these suckers was I going to find in one night, I mean really!? There must be a convention in town.

Instincts finally kicking in, I roared a challenge of my own up at the great lump, though it paled in comparison to the bellow he shot right back. A whimper escaped between my lips. Was I really having a shouting match with a werewolf at one o’clock in the morning? Yeah, I was. And I was apparently losing. So, Plan B.

“Run, Scott!” I screamed, eyes flashing honey gold, fangs dropping and claws extending as I prepared for what would inevitably be the fight of my life. Not that I’d had many thus far—only practice spars with the old man on lazy afternoons. But no way in hell was I dragging my best friend down with my scrawny ass. Becoming the chew toy of an alpha would put a major damper on the whole living-to-tell-the-heart-wrenching-story-of-Stiles’-sacrifice thing I was hoping he’d have going for him.

Scott, dopey idiot that he was, chose to ignore my demand and instead chuck his inhaler of all things right at the alpha’s head. There was a moment of heavy silence between the three of us. That was it? _That_ was his act of bravery? I’d have face-palmed if I could, but, well, alpha werewolf currently breathing down my neck, firmly reinstating my belief that everyone should carry Tic Tac’s on their person, that whole shpeal.  

The alpha seemed to take it as challenge enough, however, and made quick work of leaping away from me and onto an unsuspecting Scott. I had my legs under me and my body launching at the beast’s back in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t fast enough to prevent the scream of agony that tore through the air, sending my heart plummeting into my stomach. No. No no no. This jerk had not just bit my best friend. Nope. Not if my claws had anything to say about it. And they did. Lots and lots. They were hacking and slashing at any inch of furry flesh they could reach as I struggled to stay latched onto the alpha’s back with the strength of my legs alone, a task that was easier said than done with my chicken legs, super strength be damned. But my body was running on autopilot at the moment, too consumed with a mix of fury and protective drive to even react to the beast standing and trying to swat at me with its beefy arms like an annoying mosquito on a summer day.

He eventually wised up and threw his body on the ground, squishing me between his weight and the ground. My breath left me in a rush, as did my grip. And then I was air-born. I was flying. Look Ma, no hands! The pain of his massive paw hitting me with enough force to send me flying didn’t register until after I’d collided with the tree. And let me tell you, _ow_. Too many bits and pieces were broken for me to move, at least right away. A low whine escaped me as I willed my healing factor to hurry its ass up. I had a best friend to save.

Any further heroics on my part apparently weren’t needed, however, as a new stranger joined the fray. My first thought was of my father. Surely he’d heard all the howls and sounds of fighting from where he was currently searching for the dead wolf’s lower half. But the scent that filled my lungs was unfamiliar to me. I only caught a glimpse of ice blue eyes before the figure—yet another werewolf—let out an enraged snarl and literally shoved the alpha a few good meters away from where he’d been looming over Scott. Stupid wolves and their stupid strength. At least it was coming in handy.

By the time the alpha had righted himself, I was well enough to stand, the beta and I making a united front as I limped to his side. The numbers were in our favor, true, but we were just one beta and a dazed coyote against a moon high tank. The newcomer let out a deep, rumbling growl, one that had my hackles rising and a snarl of my own bubbling in my throat in response. My inner coyote was practically screaming ‘ _Danger, there’s danger, you stupid bitch!’,_ my instincts demanding that I get the hell out of Dodge, away from the wolves, and to somewhere safe. But I couldn’t abandon Scott. He was my best friend. My only friend, really. An idiot, yes, but a loyal one. I’d die for him if I had to.

I don’t know if the beta and I really posed as intimidating a sight as I’d hoped we would, or if the alpha just decided we were all more trouble than we were worth, but he suddenly high tailed it out of there. He’d just performed a bite-and-run, leaving the wolf and I in a startled silence, Scott moaning and bleeding at our feet.

Screw hunters. It was obviously werewolves who were going to ruin my life.

Joy of all joys.


	2. To the Ends of the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a royal ass for not having updated in so long. I'd love to give you all a concrete reason, but it all boils down to several reasons, most of which I'm sure you don't want to hear. The ending of season 3 and the beginning of season 4 have rocked the boat of my plot, so to speak, so for the time being I'll be trying to shift things around in order to accommodate the new information we've been given. I'm also considering rewriting the first chapter. It's painful to read.
> 
> Many thanks for all the support I've been given thus far. You're all beautiful people.
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> So Cold by Ben Cocks  
> Louder Than Thunder by the Devil Wears Prada

There’s something you have to understand about silence and I—we don’t get along. At all. In fact, you could say we’re natural born enemies. There’s just something about the lack of auditory stimulus that sets me on edge and makes me want to fill it any way I can. The more nervous I am, the worse it gets. It’s safe to say that in that moment I’d passed nervous and was running headlong into full-on panic mode. So, true to form, I opened my mouth and started talking.

“So, uh yeah... That just happened?” The beta seemed unperturbed by my words. I wasn’t even sure if he had heard me or not. Oh well, my mind took that as a green light, a go ahead to keep babbling away. “We scared off an alpha, which is pretty badass, I must say, definitely something I’ll have to tell my grandkids about one day. Ya know, now that I know I’ll live long enough to have them. Lots of them. I can already picture the looks of pure adoration they’ll be wearing when—“

A distorted pronunciation of my name had me gasping as I dropped to my knees. That didn’t stop my verbal vomit though, not by a long shot. “Oh my God, Scott, speak to me, dude! Are you okay? Sorry, stupid question, of course you’re not, there’s all this blood and torn flesh, not to mention all the psychological trauma you must be going through, and I’m not helping, am I?” The pained look on his face told me that no, I wasn’t. “It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got you. There’s nothing in this world some Neosporin and a couple Ibuprofen can’t fix, let me tell ya.” I refused to acknowledge the source of the rising hysteria that was making my voice crack and my legs shake as I threw Scott’s arm over my shoulders and hauled him up onto his feet. My eyes, having returned to their normal honey brown, diligently refrained from looking anywhere below Scott’s shoulders. As far as I was concerned, the blood I was smelling was coming from minor cuts and scrapes, not from… Ahem.

He’d be fine, I’d make sure of it. Now if only I could get myself to believe that bullshit.

A sharp noise filled the air. It was the sort of sound only a wounded animal would make, a mix between a yelp and a whine that had my coyote pacing nervously, her alarmed yips filling my mind. The sudden waves of anguish the beta was letting off would’ve had me dropping to my knees all over again if I weren’t so concerned on keeping Scott upright. The stranger had moved while I was distracted, now kneeling beside the upper half of the she-wolf’s corpse. Had he known her? Were they pack? The beta—no, _omega_ —had his head bowed low, a high keen emitting from between his clenched fangs. He had the looks of a man who had just lost his world, and for all I knew, he had.

It was just as well that it began to rain. What was my life becoming, a melodrama? Cause this sure as hell felt like one of those moments right after the climax where the defeated hero is left alone, his visage cast in dark tones with an ironic downpour meant to symbolize his inner turmoil and overpowering sense of loss. I really needed to stop watching Korean dramas at three in the morning.

“This is going to sound like a really stupid question, but are you okay?” I couldn’t help but ask. He had saved my ass, as well as Scott’s. A little sympathy was the least I could offer him. He gave no immediate response to my words, and I was beginning to think he hadn’t heard me—seriously, was this Ignore Stiles Day?—seemingly too far gone in his own suffering. But then he was rising to his feet, shoulders squared and jaw set, staring me down with striking green eyes that felt like they were burning straight through my soul. Talk about intense. And did I mention kind of hot? Because he was, very much so, in a tall-dark-and-handsome kind of way. Me gusta.

“Leave,” he growled out, a scowl overtaking his face, and hot damn were his eyebrows expressive. He needn’t have spoken at all, his eyebrows would’ve gotten the point across loud and clear all on their own. My lack of response as I mentally debated over the enigma that was his bushy brows seemed to displease him. All too quickly he was crowding up against me, my face nearly colliding with his chest—yay, another tall person—as he glowered down at me. “Leave. _Now_.”

My short legs struggled to back-peddle away from him while still supporting Scott’s dead weight. “Whoa there buddy, there’s this new concept called personal space? Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s pretty revolutionary,” I snarked, immensely proud of the fact that my voice barely waivered. Mr. Eyebrows didn’t seem too happy about that either, as he easily kept pace with me, even going so far as to flashing his cold blue eyes in a silent threat.

“If you don’t leave now, I swear I’ll rip your scrawny little throat out with my _teeth._ ” And whoa, okay, that wasn’t something you were meant to say to the person you’d just defended a minute ago. What the hell was his problem? Someone had obviously forgotten to take their happy pill this morning. All the same, my instincts were loyal little buggers, and at the moment they were broadcasting load and clear that I needed to do as the wolf said, else I become his late night snack.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get going. Sheesh.” I managed to blurt out, struggling to pick up the pace without turning my back on him. That would’ve been a big no-no.  
  
“See that you do.” It was a bit of relief when he stopped following me. He didn’t turn away, however, still watching me with that expression that practically screamed ‘I eat puppies for breakfast.’ Still hot, though.

Yeah, I’m a pretty messed up individual, get used to it.

Only when he was fully out of my range of sight did I turn my body in the direction I’d been going, hefting Scott’s arm a bit higher up on my shoulders, his feet dragging behind us as I tried to maintain a light jog. “That was creepy. Very creepy. And confusing. I dunno what that guy’s problem was, Scotty, I really don’t.” My mutterings more than likely went unheard by my semi-conscious friend, as most had been this particular night, but oh well, they kept me grounded as I tried to retrace the path we’d taken from where I’d parked my jeep. This night couldn’t possibly get any worse.

*

Leave it to the universe to make me eat my own words. Things _had_ gotten worse. And by worse, I mean my dad had been waiting for me with his cruiser idling right alongside Betty, a frown of epic proportions marring his face as he stood in the rain.

“Stiles, what the hell!?” he barked when he took Scott from me, stopping to check the boy’s vitals and letting out a relieved grunt when he realized he was only passed out, not half-dead like he looked. Ever since Scott’s dad had flown the coop, my dad had taken up the position of surrogate-father-figure for my best friend. I could only imagine what he must be feeling, seeing the kid he thought of as a son in such a state.

A nervous laugh escaped me. How the hell was I going to go about explaining this one?

“Hey pops. Good to see you too. Nice night we’re having, isn’t it?” _Evasion skills, don’t fail me now._

The look he shot me told me he knew damn well what I was trying to do, and that I should stop while I was ahead, or he’d unleash his paternal fury on my pathetic soul. What was left of it, at least.

“Stiles, help me get Scott in the car.” He said in his I’m-the-Sheriff-so-you-better-do-as-I-say voice.

I could do nothing by reply with a hasty “Yes sir,” metaphorical tail tucked between my legs and all.

“And once we’re on the road, you’re going to tell me everything that happened. And I mean _everything_. Got it?”

“Got it, loud and clear, clear as crystal, so clear you could—“

“Stiles!”

“Sorry.”

There was no point in trying to hide anything from him. He was a cop, it was his job to dig up all the details, whether you wanted him to or not. He’d also be able to tell if I was lying. Werecoyotes for the win. So I told him all that I could. Everything from my badass flip off of Scott’s roof, to the shouting match with the alpha. I even described the shape of the beta’s eyebrows in great detail—those things deserved some recognition. All of these things and more came spewing out of my mouth in a chaotic rush as we both worked to get Scott secured in the back seat of the cruiser, leaving Betty behind as we drove into town and to our house. I finished my retelling of the night-from-hell right as we pulled into the driveway. My dad hadn’t spoken a single word all throughout, only sending me the occasional look or making a noncommittal noise at appropriate times. To be honest, I’m surprised he’d been able to follow a single word I’d said, but then again the man had had sixteen years of experience thus far, and therefore should’ve been given the benefit of the doubt.  

I let him stew over the information from his seat at the kitchen table, a glass of scotch in hand, as I cleaned up Scott’s wound in the living room with the help of our trusty First Aid kit. The two of us rarely brought it out, but humans were ridiculously fragile, so it was always best to have a surplus of medical supplies on hand. The wound was an angry shade of red.  _Just like the alpha’s eyes_ , and wasn’t that just great, I was comparing my best friend’s injury to a psycho. And that’s what it was, an injury, not some life altering affliction that had the possibility of killing him. T’was but a flesh a wound.

Lies. All lies. Monty Python references couldn’t help Scott now.

“Nnnng… Stiles?” Well, look who’d finally woken up.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” I mused in my best nothing-is-wrong voice. “How nice of you to join the waking world.”

Scott looked like he wanted to toss a witty comment back at me, but was stopped by the twinge of pain he inevitably felt as he struggled to sit up. I had to suppress the urge to whine in sympathy. “Easy buddy, easy,” I murmured, placing one hand behind his back and the other on his shoulder as I helped him recline against the arm of the sofa. I wanted so badly to wrap him up in a blanket, offer him a freshly killed rabbit, and coddle him into the wee hours of the morning, but such actions would no doubt unsettle him. He was like Family in my mind, and while coyotes might not be pack animals, we sure as hell knew how to stay loyal to Family. Scott was an injured member of said Family, a condition I felt all too responsible for, and I wouldn’t be content until he was healed and happy.

“What happened?” came his uncertain rasping.

Ah, the question I’d been dreading. I looked over my shoulder, seeking my father’s assurance on the matter, and only after he sent me a stern nod did I turn back to Scott with a grim smile. “You were bit by a werewolf,” I deadpanned. The look of shock and confusion waging war on his face hurt me nearly as much as the guilt I was feeling did. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, had refused to acknowledge it, but it was unavoidable; Scott had been given the Bite against his will, and there would be repercussions. His days as a naïve human were over, and damn if that wasn’t the most unfair thing in the world. Scott hadn’t asked for this, didn’t deserve it, and yet it was happening, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“W-what?” he sputtered, brown eyes growing impossibly wide. “Stiles, stop joking around. Tell me what happened, for reals this time.” He didn’t believe me, of course he didn’t. What sane human would right off the bat? This was going to be more strenuous than I’d originally thought.  

I licked my lips nervously. “Scott, I’m not joking. What do you remember from the reserve?”

“We found the body,” was the first thing out of his mouth, and of course it was—teenager, remember? “You spaced out, and then there were these creepy eyes staring at us, and…” I’d already reached for the inhaler stored in the table beside the couch before Scott’s heartbeat could push past a dangerous rate, pressing it into the palm of his hand just as his breathing became ragged, rubbing a soothing hand down his back as he took one puff, then two, before settling. “Stiles, that _thing_ , it attacked us. It got you and then it got me, and it _bit_ me, and there were all these sounds,  and—“

“Calm down Scotty, before you have another asthma attack.”

My words lulled him into silence but I could tell from the look on his face that his mind was racing a mile a minute, processing everything, putting two and two together, and maybe, just maybe, coming to the conclusion that what I’d said wasn’t as crazy as he’d previously thought. But then again this was Scott I was dealing with. For all I knew he was putting two and two together and getting five.

He stared at his hands for a time, fingers fiddling with his inhaler, lips tugged down in a frown so contradictory to his usual demeanor. He look in his eyes was just as foreign when they finally met mine. I could see fear there, an abundance of it, as well as confusion and frustration. I didn’t realize I was reaching for him until I’d already coiled my arms around his shoulders to bring him into a gentler spin-off of a Stilinski hug. It seemed to have been the right thing to do, because Scott was quick to cling to me in a similar manner.

“We can answer any questions you may have, Scott. You’re not alone in this.” The smooth rumble of my dad’s voice was like a soothing balm to my rattled nerves. And if the way Scott let out a sudden huff, it was affecting him just the same, as it always had.

I chose to draw away first, moving to perch on the edge of the couch while my father came to sit in his favored armchair. Scott was practically vibrating by the time we were all settled. But only when the sheriff gave a curt nod did he let loose the horde of questions that had been brewing under his skin.

“What happened after I got bit? Is the werewolf still out there? Did you get hurt too? If it bit me, does this mean I’m gonna turn into a monster too? Do you think it had rabies?”

I blinked owlishly. For a moment there, my best buddy had sounded an awful lot like little old me. One couldn’t help but wonder what sort of influence I’d had on him after all these years, but that was a contemplation for another time. “The alpha—that’s a type of werewolf, I’ll explain later—got scared off when some help came. I have no clue where it is. I’m fine, thanks for asking. And no, it didn’t have rabies.”

It goes without saying he saw through my bullshit without even trying. “You left out an answer, Stiles.”

Luckily, before I could even begin to open that particular can of worms, my dad came to my rescue.

“Scott…” he began, voice very nearly cracking as he did so. “We don’t know for sure if the Bite will change you. It very well could, but if it doesn’t, it will kill you.”

And there it was, the elephant in the room I’d so studiously been ignoring. I felt like screaming and raging, throwing things and cursing in all the languages I’d learned over the years, anything to help cope with the thought of losing Scott. He was my best friend, my partner in crime, and my brother in all ways but blood. He’d been there to punch Jackson in the face for calling me gross in fifth grade, he’d held my hand and distracted me with Nintendo 64 when my mom had gone missing, just as he’d hugged me and cried with me when they’d lowered her into the ground a month later. I’d always been the Robin to his Batman, I’d sat in the lobby while he’d attended children’s therapy after the divorce, I’d kicked his dad in the shin when he’d tried visiting after so many years of being gone, and I’d always be there for him, until my dying day, so help me God. For Scott I’d set fire to the world, rip the stars from the sky, and devour the moon. But at that moment, I could do nothing for him.

I can’t remember much of what happened after that. Scott had fallen silent, his face ashen, hands trembling and eyes distant. I can vaguely recall my father ushering us upstairs, and between one breath and another I found myself laying on my bed, limbs wrapped around my best friend like a vice, crooning soft words into his hair and blinking against tears that refused to cease.

A creaking sound signaled my dad taking a seat in my computer chair, the very place I’d been sitting only hours before with an easier lot in life than I now had. Funny how things could change so suddenly. Safe in the knowledge of the older coyote keeping watch for the night, I allowed myself to press ever closer to Scott’s slack form, scenting him fervently in an effort to ease the rising tide of _comfortprotectFamilyinjureddanger._ The last thing I remembered was the sight of the full moon shining down on us from my window, bathing my room in its silvery glow; a sight that had so often comforted me, now filling me with foreboding. And then sleep claimed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to have the next chapter out before next weekend, but if not, my schedule will be far more forgiving come August.


End file.
